In a tale that begins with a 12-year-old’s simple desire to help his brother’s hockey team, Danny Doherty’s summer project quickly turned into a dramatic community rallying cry. What started as a modest attempt to raise funds by selling homemade ice cream on a suburban street in Norwood, Massachusetts, ended up capturing the attention of an entire town—and eventually, far beyond.
Danny’s plan was straightforward: set up a small ice cream stand in front of his house, offering flavors like vanilla and fluffernutter to neighbors and friends. Half of the proceeds would go to support the Boston Bear Cubs, a hockey team dedicated to players with physical and developmental disabilities, including Danny’s brother, who is autistic. The idea was charmingly innocent, a quintessential summer activity. However, after just a few days of serving around 20 customers, Danny’s venture hit an unexpected snag.
The Doherty family received a letter from the Norwood Board of Health, ordering the stand to be shut down. The letter, which arrived on August 5th, cited a violation of the Massachusetts Food Code, a state regulation that, among other things, governs the sale of homemade food products. Danny was shocked and disheartened. “I was surprised and upset,” he confessed. His mother, Nancy Doherty, echoed his frustration, puzzled by the complaint that had sparked the shutdown. “It seemed a little, you know, crazy if you ask me,” she remarked.
Rather than abandon the project, Danny pivoted. Instead of selling the ice cream, he decided to give it away for free, while accepting donations for the hockey team. This simple adjustment transformed the modest stand into a community sensation. The first day they reopened under the new model, the ice cream sold out in just ten minutes, raising $1,000. News of Danny’s determination and the town’s actions quickly spread, leading to widespread media coverage. Soon, local businesses joined the cause, eager to support the this kid after a Karen in the community tried to get him shut down.
One such business, Furlong’s Candies, partnered with Boston’s WWBX-FM radio station to host a fundraising event in their parking lot. The turnout was overwhelming, with lines stretching out the door and $3,600 raised in a single day. “Danny was trying to do a good thing for his brother’s team,” said Nancy Thrasher, co-owner of Furlong’s. She acknowledged the town’s health concerns but couldn’t help but sympathize with the young boy who was simply trying to help.
As the story gained traction, however, the town of Norwood found itself in an unenviable position. Officials reported receiving hate mail and even threats from angry citizens who felt Danny’s stand had been unfairly targeted. Town Manager Tony Mazzucco defended the board’s actions, emphasizing that the sale of homemade ice cream posed legitimate health risks, particularly the potential contamination with bacteria like listeria. He explained that the letter was only sent after several attempts to contact the family directly, a claim the Dohertys disputed.
Despite the controversy, the outpouring of community support was nothing short of remarkable. The fundraiser quickly snowballed, raising a staggering $20,000—far more than the hockey team’s annual budget. John Quill, the Boston Bear Cubs’ director and coach, was overwhelmed by the response. “Danny inspired a whole lot of people to do good and to be kind,” he said as he accepted a check that would secure the team’s financial future for years to come.
For Danny, the sudden fame was a bit overwhelming. Accustomed to a quieter life, the attention that his ice cream stand garnered was both thrilling and unnerving. “There were so many people and then they started chanting my name,” Danny recounted, admitting that the spotlight made him uncomfortable.
People like to complain and said things like “kids these days” don’t have any initiative. But look what happens when they do. A government bureaucracy shuts them down and sends them warning letters.